


Don’t say something stupid (like: "I love you")

by ylc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends With Benefits, Jealousy, M/M, Mystrade Valentines Calendar 2018, Pining, Post-Season/Series 04, because that always works out so well, but it's really not that important, sherlock ships it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 11:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13704009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: Mycroft is not upset.There’s nothing to be upset about, really.So what if Inspector Lestrade has an actual date on Valentine’s Day? It’s not like he has any real claim on the man.And yet-





	Don’t say something stupid (like: "I love you")

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the Mystrade Valentine’s for this year. I think I might be a bit obsessed with the friends-with-benefits trope (if you read my johnlock valentine’s work you’ll know what I mean) and I blame it entirely on listening to a certain song way too many times :P  
> That being said, the title for this piece was inspired by Frank Sinatra’s song “Something stupid”.  
> Enjoy!

He’s not upset.

There’s nothing to be upset about, really.

It’s not like he had had  _ special  _ plans for the occasion. 

It’s not like Valentine’s Day means anything to him and it’s not like they had the sort of relationship where one should care about the ridiculous, overly commercialized holiday.

So if Mycroft is in a bit of a bad mood, it certainly has nothing to do with Inspector Lestrade informing him he could not meet him on the 14th because he has an actual date on Valentine’s Day, with someone who he’s actually interested in dating and not just fucking  (Although the Inspector isn’t anywhere near heartless enough to say as much, but Mycroft thinks it was implied somewhat)

Nevertheless, he was certainly not affected by that call. There’s no reason for him to be affected. It’s not like… he did know… they did agree…

Oh, but who is he kidding? 

* * *

 

Mycroft has avoided relationships like the plague ever since he was 16 and got his heart broken for the first time. He doesn’t remember much of the boy who marked him so; certainly not his name or even his face. He has carefully worked to block those memories, but the hurting words he said, the cold cruel  _ mocking  _ tone, haunt him to this day.

He wasn’t made for loving or being loved and so he decided he was better off on his own. Some days he regrets passing the lesson onto Sherlock: for all his brother’s shortcomings, he’s not like Mycroft on that aspect; he is lovable and, if he allowed himself to, he could find someone to love who would love him back.

There is, of course, little point on regret. The past is the past and nothing he can do or say now would change what happened lifetimes ago. They’ve both made their decisions and they had costed them dearly, but he does think his brother is finally on the right track. As long as Dr. Watson does observe, they should be fine.

He, on the other hand…

He should have known better than to indulge in silly daydreams. He’s known Inspector Lestrade for over a decade and in all those years he was perfectly happy with just admiring him from afar. The man was handsome, unfairly so and Mycroft couldn’t stop himself from fantasizing about getting to know him better, but that was all it was: fantasies, dreams that wouldn’t (couldn’t) come true.

And then the…  _ incident  _ at Sherrinford had happened. And for some unfathomable reason the good Inspector had gone well beyond the call of duty or even friendship and had stuck to Mycroft’s side during the whole recovery process. He had been more dearly affected than what he’d ever be comfortable letting anyone see, but he had felt safe with Gregory and so he hadn’t pushed him away, instead had welcomed his steady presence and basked in the warmth of his companionship.

In retrospect, that had been his downfall.

* * *

 

He wasn’t a stranger to sex, although he wouldn’t go as far as saying he had tons of experience. A couple of partners here and there, but nothing noteworthy. He had enjoyed himself briefly and then had moved on without any particular regrets.

He knew, intellectually, that there’s a difference between sex for the sake of pleasure and sex with feelings involved (even if one-sided) but having never experienced the second, he hadn’t thought it would make an awful lot of difference. He knew he liked the Inspector entirely too much and that it was likely he’d grow attached if they slept together, but it hadn’t really occured him it would compromise his ability to  _ function _ .

The day after they had came up with an…  _ agreement,  _ he had been  _ giddy,  _ completely incapable of concealing his sudden happiness. He was in such a good mood that several of his coworkers mentioned it, much to his eternal embarrassment. Still, he had been entirely too pleased with himself to worry overly much.

He had thought that as time passed, the novelty would wear off and he’d back to his usual self, which was more or less true on the days he wasn’t seeing the good Inspector after work. On the days they had scheduled an encounter though…

He should have known it would end in nothing but tragedy. It seems that no matter how many times he told himself it was just a physical  _ arrangement  _ born out of convenience and that there were no feelings involved whatsoever he never truly believed it.

And of course, now he’ll have to pay for it.

* * *

 

He taps his fingers against his desk, staring at his phone intently. A part of him wants to call the Inspector and demand an explanation. What is exactly what he’s missing? Why he’s good enough to sleep with but not to actually date? What can this other person offer him that Mycroft can not?

But he fears he already knows the answers and the last thing he wants is to hear them from the good Inspector.

So he puts his phone away and forces himself to focus on his work. There’s no point in dwelling on the things one can not have: only the fools waste their time thinking of what-ifs. This is the lot he’s been given in life and he can’t really complain about it.

He’s fine. Some might even say he’s lucky.

But he certainly doesn’t feel that way right now.

* * *

 

It had happened on one of those nights where they had been talking for far too long and they might have drunk more than they should. But the company was lovely, the conversation was actually intellectually stimulating and Mycroft had felt intoxicated with good cheer.

And then the Inspector had kissed him and things had gone promptly to hell.

But no, that’s an unfair statement. Things had gone to hell a few hours later, when Mycroft had actually come to his senses and realized he might have just made the biggest mistake of his life. Kissing Gregory (no,  _ Inspector Lestrade _ ) had been as easy as breathing; it just felt natural and  _ right.  _ But now, in the aftermath, he realized he had acted recklessly and that he’d pay dearly for it.

The  _ Talk  _ that had followed had been awkward and painful to the extreme, but because Mycroft is a masochist and likes to come up with ways to torment himself apparently, he had suggested  _ an arrangement.  _ He supposes it could be described as a friends-with-benefits type of situation, except he’s not sure if they’re friends to begin with, not to mention that he’s fairly certain one does not walk into that sort of agreement with people you’re actually halfway in love with already. 

But, against all his predictions, it had worked without too much awkwardness. It had worked marvelously because it gave Mycroft what he craved most in this world: the illusion of being loved if only for a little while, while also handling Gregory’s ( _ Inspector Lestrade _ ’s, that is) physical needs. And so they both benefited from it and they were content with it and that was that.

Until now, apparently. Until now, that the Inspector has met someone and Mycroft has been forced to face reality: his silly daydreams were just that and what they currently have is the most he can aspire to.

Although that might come to an end soon too. If the date works out well…

Well. He supposes it was too good to last.

* * *

 

_ Why is Lestrade on a date with the new forensic? _

Mycroft stares at his phone for the longest time, chewing on his lip. If his brother had showed up at his office and gutted him, it probably would have been less painful than getting his damn message. He has been doing his very best to ignore the date; he’s been carefully avoiding even glancing at a calendar after that fatidic call 5 days ago and now Sherlock-

_ How would I know?  _ he writes back and then, because he must really be a masochist, writes another text.  _ Why don’t you ask him? _

_ Did you break up? Why wasn’t I informed of this?  _

Mycroft stares at the message for a long while, wondering what deity he angered to deserve this and then his phone pings with yet another text.  _ Do I need to talk some sense into him? _

Mycroft laughs, perhaps a tad hysterically. He must be dreaming, he decides, because since when does Sherlock care about his love life?  _ Why are you texting me? _ he replies, studiously ignoring Sherlock’s inquiries.  _ Don’t you have a date of your own? _

_ You try to set a romantic mood when there’s a toddler around  _ is Sherlock’s sharp response and Mycroft smiles fondly. He’s happy for his brother, he truly is, but right now his happiness just makes him more aware of his own crippling loneliness.

_ You’re hopeless  _ Sherlock texts and Mycroft sighs, running his fingers through his hair, unsure of how to answer that.

_ Fine. I’ll fix your love life, but you owe me big time.  _ Mycroft blinks, re reading the text, terrified of its implications. He hurries to dial Sherlock’s phone, but there’s no response and he curses softly. He should probably call Inspector Lestrade to let him know his brother is up to something, but there’s a chance (slim, truth to be told) that Sherlock isn’t being serious and if that’s the case…

Well, he wouldn’t want to ruin the man’s date, would he?

He bites his lip, considering his options while he dials Sherlock’s number once more and then throws his phone away when he realizes he’s not going to pick up. 

Well. Hopefully nothing will happen.

It’s not like Sherlock cares about his love life that much, right?

* * *

 

Someone is trying to knock his front door down.

Or that it’s what it seems to Mycroft’s sleep addled brain. After Sherlock’s ominous text he had tried to work for a little while, but his mind kept drifting and eventually he fell into an uneasy sleep. When the knocking had started he had first thought it was still part of his dream, so he had ignored it and now-

Well, now he better hurry up before whoever is knocking succeeds on his attempt to knock it down.

“Gre- I mean, Inspector Lestrade, what are you doing here? I thought you had a date?”

Gregory’s (Inspector Lestrade’s, damn it! Never Gregory, not outside the bedroom) expression is thunderous and Mycroft is a little ashamed to admit that that does  _ things  _ to his insides. The man pushes his way into the flat and Mycroft follows him, a tad wary and perhaps a bit excited.

“I did,” the Inspector deadpans, crossing his arms over his chest and turning to face Mycroft, expression still furious. “And then your damn brother showed up.” Oh, damn. After all this time, now is when Sherlock decides to care. “Demanded to know why I was  _ cheating on you,  _ which earned me a rather nasty slap from my date, I might add, not to mention we caused quite the scene inside the very packed restaurant.”

“Gre- I mean, Inspector-”

“No strings attached, you said! Nothing serious, you said! And while that wasn’t what I was hoping for, I tried to make my peace with it, thinking I’d settle for what I could get but it turns out it doesn’t really quell this…  _ yearning _ for you, so I thought… I thought maybe I should try to… I don’t know, go out more or something. And it was going well, or as well as it could, I suppose and then your bloody brother-”

But Mycroft isn’t quite listening, his brain having gotten caught up with something Gregory said. “It wasn’t what you were hoping for?”

Gregory turns to glare him, looking angry and  _ hurt  _ and Mycroft never wants to make him look like that ever again, but he doesn’t know what he did wrong and-

“Listen, I… You were pretty clear from the get go and I… I knew what I was getting into. So don’t- I just- Can you clear things up with your brother? Explain to him what’s going on between us?”

Mycroft blinks, still processing the whole conversation. “I would,” he says, his heart swelling with hope. “But I’m afraid I’m not so sure myself.”

“Oh, dammit Mycroft! You were the one who set the ground rules, so don’t-”

“Because I thought that was what you wanted,” he interrupts, his heart beating loudly inside his chest. Could it be....? “I thought… I didn’t think… I couldn’t imagine you actually wanted  _ me  _ so I-”

“Wait. Wait a second,” Gregory interrupts him, still looking a tad annoyed but perhaps a tad hopeful too. “Are you telling me we’ve both been idiots this whole time? We both want the same thing?”

“It would seem so,” Mycroft answers slowly, biting his lip nervously. “You… you want to have a relationship with me. A real relationship.”

“Yes,” Gregory answers breathlessly. “ And you… you want that too? Not just sex?”

Mycroft nods very slowly, not yet daring to believe his luck. “Yes, but I… I’m afraid I don’t… I’m not good at these sort of things.”

“You don’t say,” Gregory murmurs, but he’s smiling now. “God, what a pair we are.”

“Indeed,” Mycroft agrees quietly, stepping closer to his companion, taking his hands in his hesitantly. Gregory’s smile widens and he links their fingers together, squeezing once, making Mycroft’s heart flutter funnily inside his chest. “I’m sorry for… everything. For not being honest with you and for my brother’s behavior.”

Gregory chuckles, pulling him closer, their faces now inches apart. “Well, I think I can forgive him. He did us a favour, after all.”

Mycroft smiles, nodding once before leaning down to kiss his companion. Gregory hums in appreciation, keeping the kiss chaste but sweet. They’re both grinning when they pull apart, both bursting with happiness.

“I had reservations for dinner, you know,” Mycroft confesses quietly, “I never got around cancelling them.”

In lieu of a response, Gregory kisses him again.


End file.
